


Blank Page

by zerostumbleine33



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1230007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zerostumbleine33/pseuds/zerostumbleine33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire spends her summer after high school chasing a ghost of a dream that has haunted her since childhood; since her brief stint as an angelic host; since the last time she saw her father. She takes to the road and ventures into the world of the Supernatural as she tracks down the angel, Castiel, who is inhabiting her father's body.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> "got dressed, drove the state line  
> looking for you at the five and dime  
> but there I was picking pieces up  
> you are a ghost of my indecision  
> no more, little girl"-Blank Page, Smashing Pumpkins

The paint is chipping on doorway and the outdated signage screams “made-in-the 90s”, with packed lettering crammed onto a wooden board hung precariously above the counter. The tip jar is empty minus a few stray coins, and the place smells of grease and barbeque sauce. For a run-down restaurant, Claire has to admit that they have the best wings in town. She’s sure her opinion would change if she looked past the teenager at the counter towards the grease vats and freezers in the back. For now though, she places her order, having mingled long enough at the counter to draw more attention to herself than normal.

“6 regular wings,” she says, adding on “please” at the end. She smirks because she can’t help having been raised with parents who taught her to be overly polite. The boy at the counter has blonde floppy hair and big brown eyes. He flashes her a grin and she notices as his eyes travel inadvertently towards her chest. Her eyes flash briefly and his smile drops slightly before he clears his throat.

She pays him quickly, and returns to the same booth she sat in the previous day; the far corner at the back. The food is cheap thankfully, even if it means she has to endure the chatter of the kids from the local high school. She has barely taken a bite of her food before the door on the bell jingles, bringing in a cold gust of wind. She ignores the ache to look up, anticipation burning deep in her stomach. Claire takes several more bites of her wings, her fingers coated in the greasy but delicious sauce.

Wiping her hands, she looks up, nervously surveying the small dining establishment. There are only a few booths, 3 on each side, with white seats and red padding. The place really is run-down and old but she likes it, something about it feels warm. Maybe it’s the chatter from the high school kids in the other booth across from her, or the radio blaring the 90’s rock station. It feels like a life she could have had, and it is almost morose and sad how much pleasure she takes in being the outsider, but that’s how it has been ever since her brief stint as an angelic host.

She pulls out her phone, anxiously checking the time. She’s been traveling, turning what was initially a summer trip into something much longer. At first it was just so satiate a curiosity, to get away and see the world. At least that was what she told herself. It was midway through summer before she finally got the guts to do it, to face up to the urge she had been fighting for years. That was how it had all started, even when she hadn’t realized exactly what she planned to do. She’d returned to the barn, the place that had changed her life.

As it turns out, finding the angel that is inhabiting the body of her father is a nearly impossible task. It is certainly much more dangerous than she had initially anticipated, but for the first time since the last time she spoke to her father, she felt like she had a purpose. It is nearly December; she put off her admittance to school in Chicago, and now she’s ready to come face to face with _him_ ; Castiel.

Claire’s foot taps nervously on the cheap linoleum floor as she mindlessly watches a table of high school students in front of her. Their uniforms reminds her of her own upbringing, the years spent in Catholic school and church. Of course, that had all ended. They had moved, Claire was never sent to a Catholic school again and that had been that. She pulls at her oversized sweater, pulling the sleeves over her fingers awkwardly before checking the time on her phone again.

It had taken a while to figure out where to start, but she’d finally tracked down someone who could help her. The woman was a psychic, and while it had been a painful process, she had been able to help Claire. Her name was Missouri and her powers were so unnerving that Claire had almost walked right out. She had already known _everything_ , and began clicking her tongue before Claire could even begin to ask about angels and how to track one. They’d performed a complicated spell and Missouri had extracted what she said was “residual grace” from Claire, and as painful as it was, it seemed to work. Of course, magic isn’t an exact science. The best location they could pinpoint was here; a rundown wing shop in upper Illinois. Claire had driven for two days straight from Kansas, praying to whoever that she would not miss him. The best Missouri could do was give Claire a window of four days that Castiel would most likely show up here.

***

“A restaurant named ‘Franks’?” Claire had said, disbelief seeping through every word.

“I can’t tell you anything about why honey, and you know I told you that this was a nearly impossible task. I hope you find what you’re looking for though.” Missouri had responded, shaking her head slightly as she grinned to herself. “I can tell you that you had better try the wings there and you won’t regret it.”

“You’ve been there?”

“Oh sugar no, that’s a tip from a long passed friend,” she’d said with a wink before ushering Claire out the door.

***

“Would you like me to take your tray?” a voice asks, breaking Claire from her reverie.

She looks up at the boy who had originally taken her order. “Oh, yes please.”

“You waiting on someone?” he asks, piling up a few stray napkins onto her tray.

“I’m not sure,” Claire says, pulling at her blonde hair before tucking it behind her ears.

The boy from the front counter gives her a strange look and shrugs before walking away with her tray. She’s had a few encounters with ghosts, talked to a few legitimate psychics and plenty of quack jobs. Luckily she’s kept far enough away from any demons, the thoughts of which have kept her up countless nights since she was a kid. As weird as her life is, she’s still not sure how to talk to people, especially normal ones.

She rubs her eyes and places her hands in her lap, rubbing one hand over the anti-possession tattoo on her wrist. Her mom hates it, hates that Claire has a tattoo at all, and especially that it is in such an obvious location. Claire loves it though, it calms her when her anxiety sets in and when she imagines a stranger’s eyes turning all black. She rubs her fingers over the black ink and traces it over and over.

The bell on the door rings once more and Claire’s fingers stop moving. She can almost feel it, feel _him_. She doesn’t look up; she doesn’t need to. All her work, her time spent looking for him and he is here. The air feels thinner, as if something much larger than life has entered and sucked the oxygen out with just one breath. The electricity hums just a little lower but the room is brighter, and Claire needs to close her eyes for a moment to stop her heart from beating out of control.

Claire raises her eyes slowly and her breathe catches in her throat. He is there, unchanged, the same as the last time she saw him almost 6 years ago. He’s in a white button-down as usual, with black slacks and a tan trench-coat. He looks like her dad but he doesn’t, and then he turns around a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he says something to his companion who rolls his eyes. Claire squints her eyes, trying to place him. Her hand flies to her mouth as her memory returns; remembers him and the other tall man who had come to help her and her mom. After she had become a vessel for the angel, everything else had been bathed in such darkness. The light from _him_ was blinding and it had been almost impossible to remember anything else. In fact, much of her time had been spent trying to get those memories back, the ones the angel had tried to wipe during his quick exist from her body and back into her father.

This man is Dean, and she can nearly hear his name in his head, the way she had first heard it when Castiel had entered her body. The experience had been overwhelming, all-encompassing and terrifying at once. Picking out small bits and pieces of it had been nearly excruciating but she remembers this now with clarity. With human eyes, she can inspect him from afar. The man whose name had been practically sung with praises inside Castiel’s mind, even with the very small view she had of it, she can remember it instantly with an astounding clarity.

Dean stands close to the angel, his eyes scanning the room while the angel reads the menu with a baffled look. She avoids making eye contact with Dean, instead noting the way the angel furrows his brow at the menu before turning to speak to Dean. They speak in quiet tones and Dean seems to fake annoyance but a smile always quickly spreads across his face when the angel is turned away. She doesn’t understand this and it throws her for a loop, watching this man who looks like her father but isn’t.

She’s been waiting for this for years, to see her dad again, to see Castiel again. She hasn’t felt the same since she was a temporary vessel, a house to something so much larger than herself. She feels tiny, the weight of her humanity crushes her constantly, and to see him here in person finally…she is at a loss. She watches them order their food and sit down a few tables in front of her. They speak in hushed tones and Claire watches them, debating over how to even begin.

She finally pushes out of her seat, slinging her side-bag over her shoulder and tucking her hair behind her ears. She walks slowly up to their table, her heart racing, every beat pounding in her head. She notices their eyes locked on one another, silence permeating every moment. She coughs as she comes to a stop, fighting the urge to fidget with her bag or take out her phone.

Dean looks away first, a slight blush covering his cheeks but when he looks at her, their eyes meet and the cold warning in them is replaced by gentle remembrance. But the angel speaks first.

“Claire,” he says with wonder.

He stands up and envelopes her in a hug that is awkward and short but it immediately brings tears to her eyes and she can’t seem to stop them. The angel pulls back quickly and looks back at Dean in confusion.

“Dude, way too much,” he says, “let’s move to the seat further in back, ok?” he says looking at Claire.

She nods, wiping her cheeks quickly, trying to hold on to the scent of her father…which was nothing like the memory she has but it’s been so long that she isn’t even _sure_ she knows what her dad used to smell like, used to sound like, or what his hugs felt like.

Castiel and Dean slide into opposing seats, leaving her to choose a side. She chooses the side that will allow her to look at the face of her father, to commit it to memory so that she never forgets it. The expressions are all wrong, closed off and reserved but she saw it before when he was standing with Dean. She saw his small smile, the same one her father used to get on Christmas as she opened her gifts, or when her mom would fall asleep on him in the middle of movie. She recognized him for a brief moment and now she longs for it.

Now she knows what she has been wanting; why she wanted to see the angel again.

“So kid, how’ve you been? Seems like you tracked us down so I’m hoping nothing is wrong.” Dean says, his mouth in a straight line. He is older than before. Small worry lines are etched across his forehead, but there are laugh lines too at the corners of his eyes. She’s sure it has to do with their line of work, and that he probably feels every bit as old as she does.

“I’m fine-we’re fine,” she says, pausing to take a deep breath. “I was supposed to start college this year.”

It’s all she can think of. She doesn’t exactly have a million hobbies outside of “track down the angel that is wearing your dad”.

“Your father would be very proud,” the angel says, his voice still rough. He doesn’t sound like her dad at all but it isn’t bad either.

“That’s kind of why I’m here actually…” she starts. “I don’t really know how to ask but I _know_ it’s possible because I was a vessel too and I was just wondering…could I talk to him? To my dad.”

Castiel’s eyes flicker to Dean’s and they seem to share a conversation through eye contact alone. The angel looks down at the table, not bringing his eyes to meet hers.

“Listen, Claire,” Dean begins, “do you remember when there were all those meteor showers last summer?”

“Yes…and by the way, I _do_ know that they were angels. I could feel it. Please don’t try to placate me.”

Dean sits back with a small grin on his face that covers a bit of the shock in his widened eyes. “Ok, sounds like a good plan then. Well see, the angels all fell from heaven and Cas…Castiel…he lost his grace.”

Claire looks to the angel suddenly, her mouth open slightly. “What does that mean? Oh my god is my dad ok?”

The men exchange a look again before Castiel continues.

“I’m no longer an angel, Claire. Your father hasn’t been with me for quite some time now.”

“But…but how is that possible? You _look_ like him! If he isn’t here, then where is he?” she exclaims, panic rising slightly. Her stomach churns and for a moment the room begins to spin.

“He’s in heaven. Trust me, it is a much better fate than I could have given him,” Castiel says.

“So what, you’re human now? You just look like my dad but you aren’t him because his soul is in heaven?”

“Pretty much,” Dean says with a shrug.

“I could _feel_ you though, when you entered. I know it was you without even looking. How is that possible?”

Castiel shrugs, almost mimicking Dean. “That is what we have been looking into recently actually,” he looks at Dean before continuing. “The leftover grace from an angel seems to have a long lingering effect on the human body.”

Claire sits back, all energy depleted from her body. She’d been looking for so many answers, and for a chance to say goodbye to her father. She has so many questions right now but all she can think of is how her father is gone and that she won’t get to tell him goodbye. She wraps her sweatshirt over the tips of her fingers and averts her eyes, instead looking at the faded linoleum as if it contains the secret to life.

"You could come with us," the angel says quietly, sounding more like her father.

She looks up slowly, her eyes flitting between Castiel and Dean. Dean nods, an encouraging smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Her eyes meet with the angel’s, the ones that look so similar to hers, and the decision is nearly made.

The rest of her night is a blur as she finds herself seated in the backseat of old an black car that smells like leather and oil, and the gentle sounds of an old Beatles album drifts through the back speakers, lulling her somewhere between consciousness and dreams of when her father used to play this same album for her as they drove to church.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I have plans to eventually turn this into a series in the near future.


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